


My mind is a Rorschach test.

by LoudandDangerous



Category: Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Age Play, Daddy Kink, Dark, Escape, Explicit Sexual Content, Gunplay, Humiliation, Kidnapping, Knifeplay, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Mental Institutions, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Orgasm Denial, Overstimulation, Physical Abuse, Rape, Rape Aftermath, Rape Recovery, kidnapped steve, mental patient bucky
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-28
Updated: 2015-10-14
Packaged: 2018-04-17 14:40:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 9
Words: 9,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4670453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoudandDangerous/pseuds/LoudandDangerous
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My mind is a Rorschach test and you saw beauty in the fucked up image.</p><p> </p><p>There's a brunet in a mental facility, but he's not mental, they just don't understand the way his mind works. </p><p>There's a blond in a basement, but he's not alone, and no one can hear his screams.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I liked working on Bloodied Hands, but I wanna go darker than that.
> 
> This is A) Hella violent and B) A bit depressing.
> 
> Move forth at your own emotional risk.

 

It's a straight jacket confining him to the small room. He scrunches his nose in anger and spits out the gag put in his mouth to shut him up. The words uttered were enough to make him punch a goddamn hole in the wall.

 

" _Your anger has gotten out of hand. Calm. Down. This room will soothe you."_

 

He sat up off the floor, struggling to do so since his arms were wrapped and secured around his torso. There's a guard on the side of the door frame. He smacks his back against the wall and ponders carefully. Deciding on a plan, he makes his attack.

 

He slams his head against the steel door and leaves a dent. The guard opens to the door, rushes inside and to his dismay, he doesn't see the brunet patient. The brunet props open the door with his foot and slips out, letting it close and capture the guard inside. A smirk grows upon his face as he bolts down the hallway, making his great escape.

 

''You can't soothe crazy….if crazy doesn't exist." The brunet snarled to himself as he kicked the door open and simply walked out.

* * *

The hot tears flooded his flustered cheeks as the whip came down, smack after smack. He couldn't even utter the words to at least try to stop the pain on his ass, blood red from so many spankings. When it was over, the blond cried out in pain and was finally released from his chains; allowed to wander around the small, cold, cement room in the basement of the unknown location. HIs kidnapper unbolted the door briefly and vacated the room as the blond clawed at the door. His kidnapper cracked open the door, brutally stepped on the blond's hand, snickered sinfully and left.

 

The blond curled up to the wall and stared out the small window above. The sun broiling outside and he hoped deep inside that the sun would melt away the plastic that divided him from the rest of the world. The air-conditioning turns on, the room temperature slowly drops 20 degrees from the already 40 degree temperature permanently set. The blond knows he's going to either freeze to death or his kidnapper would come in and coax him to do the one thing he changed the temperature for.

 

_Coddling._

 

The blond stared over to the worn out paint set in the corner with the spiderwebs. He contemplated drinking the murky paint water to kill himself, but the thought of the horrible things his kidnapper would do to his corpse for pleasure sent a chill down his spine. He surveyed the room before kicking a wooden letter block on the floor, completing the word

 

H E L P  

 

The door unbolted and the blond shot his head to his kidnapper, with a blanket and bag of pretzels. His kidnapper tossed the bag of pretzels to the blond and laid the blanket down, patting it politely even though the intentions he had planned were anything but. 

 

''Why don't you sit down, babydoll?" The voice was low, raspy and cold. Sinister as it was sweet sounding, the voice that one would use to calm down a baby.

 

_After all, he was treated like one._

 

The blond swallowed hard, considering wether he should let himself freeze or give in to his kidnapper's demands. The blond slowly sluggishly shook his head, feeling the cold cement get colder on his bare back. He opened his mouth to say no, but all that came out was the small puff of his warm breath meeting the frost in the air. 

 

''It was not a question.  _Sit down."_ His kidnapper's demeanor had changed to even darker than before. The blond didn't move from his position, he prayed that his body would stay were it was and his mind didn't tell it to give in. His kidnapper sighed and got up. The blond felt relief that his kidnapper would get the hint and leave.

 

_But it would, and never will be that easy._

 

His kidnapper crossed the cold floor, gripped the blond by his shoulders and flung him onto the blanket. A sharp pain struck up his shoulder blades and stayed there as his kidnapper crawled in the blanket and pulled the blond close, burying his face in the golden blond hair, gripping him higher to the point of killing him from lack of air. HIs kidnapper's warm chest felt lovely against the blond's cold back, and he hated himself for wanting more.

 

''You want a juice box?" His kidnapper coaxed, holding up yellow box. The blond pursed his lips and questioned if it was yet another trap. The blond nodded his head, allowing his kidnapper to give him the juice box. He drank it in silence, tasting only the apple flavoring and not the drugs his kidnapper usually slips in. 

 

_What is he playing at? Why is he doing this? I've been here long enough to know that something is going on…._

 

_Stockholm? Not after the way he spanked me today. Maybe he's gonna release me soon? He'll release my dead body in a lake before he does it while I'm alive. Maybe he's just calming me down before he does something drastic…._

 

BINGO.

 

* * *

 

 

The sun was broiling outside. The brunet had managed to get off his straight jacket and toss it in a nearby trashcan. The world was the way he left it when he'd been thrown into the facility and everything but his life had remained the same. His boyfriend was long gone, married to someone else shortly after the brunet's capture. His journal had been withheld by the FBI and the thought of the recklessness of the FBI rattled his mind. Framed for the murder he didn't commit and when they proved his innocence, he was tossed with the other bat-shit crazy residents at Spring Asylum. 

 

He wandered around the town before coming upon his house, protected by the FBI now for some reason he couldn't pin point. They didn't seem to do a good job of guarding it considering that the spare key was still in the fake plant on the patio, and he could shuffle around the house unnoticed. He changed his clothes, cut his hair to medium length, grabbed his wallet (Which was also left untouched.) and left through the way he came.

 

_The front door._

 

He scoffed at their ignorance began thinking.  _I can't risk being found, but if I allow time for the es--_ _  
_

 

He was interrupted by the loud shriek emitting from the house beside him as he walked alone the sidewalk. The shriek was familiar, the same ones that kept him up at night, the ones that no one else heard. He's filled his journal late at night with questions, the reason that maybe the house was haunted or possessed. Once the FBI found his journal, they searched the house but didn't find anything. Coming to the conclusion that the brunet was simply mental, they sent him away. 

 

Maybe he's not crazy. Maybe he was right. Maybe it's a cry from a demon.

 

Or maybe it's a cry for help.

 

* * *

 

The blond tried fighting back as his kidnapper shoved the pacifier in his mouth, but he fought to no avail. His kidnapper chained the blond to the wall and slapped him so hard it left a mark just as red as his ass from earlier. Night had fallen, causing his kidnapper to light a flame and put it in a candle. The blond watched the ember to distract him from his pants being pulled down. He squinted and began breathing heavily as he felt the warmth of his kidnapper's mouth around the base of his cock, but he didn't move his eyes from the burning ember of the candle. He tried moving as hard as he could, kicking his legs and screaming, not out of pain, but out of the pleasure he hated himself for half enjoying.

 

He was _so_  close, but he didn't care. Finally, he kicked and broke his left leg out of the chain. Kicking his kidnapper in the gut and numerous times in the face when he fell back. It wasn't much of a defense, but it was what he could do; and he was grateful for that. His kidnapper stood up brushed himself off and yanked the blond by his jaw. 

 

''You little shit, you don't run things around here. You never will. It's been a fucking year and three months. Why are you fucking resisting? I tried to give you pleasure, I really tried to be nice, but if you're going to be a brat and _kick me…_ '' He leaned in close to the terrified blond's face. ''You don't deserve to come tonight." He kneeled down and took the blond's length in his mouth once more, holding down the blond's free leg. The blond was coming close, pre-come leaking out just a precursor for the flood about to erupt out of him. Deprived from coming for so long that he felt relief when he came close. He was one more tongue swirl away from coming when…

 

It stopped.

 

''That should teach you. Don't try resisting." His kidnapper snarled and smirked before kissing the blond's forehead, and left. Leaving only the candle and the blond on the verge of coming undone. He wanted to finish himself off, but his arms were restrained. He spit out the pacifier before crying and sobbing loudly. His cock throbbing but no one there to fix it.

 

Until he heard knock on the window….

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Please leave comments. Not sure how I'm doing so far. ☺️

The knocking was persistent. It ran in a pattern, slowly over time it had gone three knocks, followed a long pause and the knocks continued. His mind was telling him to move, try to shift his head and at least see what was making so much noise. His head awash with confusion, panic, pain, anger, curiosity. His hopes skyrocketed before dropping at the fact that the noise was most likely a raccoon or a tree branch sent flying against the cold, hard plastic. He closed his eyes, tears dripping out from under his eyelashes. He opened his eyes, squinting with the realization that he'd have to adjust to the bright light in the dismal darkness and focused on the burning ember.

 

_The flame of hope._

 

The knocking got louder and the blond swallowed in fear that his kidnapper would question the noise, come to the conclusion that the blond was trying to escape and spank him until he bled and cried. He held back the tears from his thoughts looming in his mind, already so broken from his kidnapper's torture methods, and began shaking. Afraid of what the knocking actually was. The clouds cleared from in front of the chalky white moon and cast into the plastic window…but it wasn't a raccoon's shadow or an eerie tree branch knocking against. This was a human's shadow, the shadow that cascaded into the room and left a dark shape upon the cold cement floor. 

 

The blond's head darted to the window, almost jumping in fright had the restraints not been so effective. The brunet looking in only saw the glowing ember and not the blond struggling to send a message. The brunet knocked again. Kicking, pulling, yanking, jerking, the chains were leaving mark along his wrists and ankles but no matter what the blond did; he couldn't sent a message or cry for help. Unless he used his one line of defense.

 

_His voice._

 

He inhaled hard, holding back tears and fear of the inevitable fact that his scream would wake his kidnapper. He had to get ready, he would only have one clear shot of this. He closed his eyes, his heart racing as the knocking persisted. He swallowed to lubricate his throat and shot open his baby blue eyes.

 

His shriek was earsplitting, a mix of the built up agony, fear, pain, terror hiding in his mind, body, eyes and what was left of his soul. The loud cry for help rang through the neighborhood and sent the brunet tumbling back in confusion. Relentless, he pushed up against the window and stabbed rocks into it. Leaving only scratches and painfully tiny marks. He scoured the yard, stumbling upon the garden knife. He shot his head to the small window and stabbed it with full force. The plastic shattered and broke into small pieces, landing on the cement floor with a small  _clack_ on each piece. Without hesitation he leaped through the window and was met with terrified baby blue eyes on a weak blond chained to a wall. His own eyes were prison bars hiding the fear and angst for the blond victim drowning in a swirl of relief and terror. He could see the blond's halo had been knocking off and smashed into bits and with those pieces; he'd been stabbed far too many times.

 

''Are you okay?" The brunet's voice was quiet, but he knew the blond could hear. The blond shook his head quickly in response and allowed the brunet to loosen his restraints with ease. The blond dropped to the floor and held back vomit from his emotions bubbling up elsewhere. The brunet didn't expect a thank you and didn't receive one. The blond had been far too traumatized to say anything. The footsteps sped up down the hall to the bolted shut door. The blond's pupils went dilated as he slowly rose his head to the door and began shaking.

 

 

_He knew it was coming. He was coming. He was getting closer. His kidnapper had arrived and busted the door open._

 

Frozen in shock to the blond kneeled down and the brunet with a garden knife and blood on his face. The movement was swift; he yanked the blond by his waist,  hopped up on the tower of wood blocks as they knocked over from the force and left through the broken plastic window.

 

''I've escaped. You've escaped. Now we need to hide." The brunet's voice was hurried as he bolted down the grass, almost tripping over his two feet with the blond in his grasp. He stared behind him as the dark, hooded shadow followed not too far behind. ''We have a problem''. The blond snatched the garden knife from the brunet and stared down the hooded figure. Slipping himself from the brunet's grasp, he fell to the grass and held the knife tightly in his grasp. The energy released during his shriek of escape only boomed with half his energy. The rest of the energy, the anger, hate, rage, morose thoughts would go into this. 

 

The hooded figure grabbed ahold of the blond on the grass, struggling to hold his frail body. ''Don't try to escape, darling. I thought you and I were happy." The dark, raspy voice boomed with anger, tired of the blond's stunts. The blond was ready to release it, into his knife that would soon be lodged in the hole where his kidnapper's heart was. The blond's arm came up and back down, slicing a slit in his kidnapper's stomach. He repeated the action until his arm was weak and sore, only then, did he put the blade in his other hand and repeat.

 

This was for the wood blocks, the spankings, the bibs, the pacifiers, the balloons, the mobile, the drugged birthday cake, the blankets, the juice boxes, the drugs, the rocking chairs and most importantly: His captivity.

 

The blond was mad, mad that he'd let it happen. Mad that sometimes he wanted more. Mad that he would want to be spanked and treated like an infant. Mad that his halo was broken and all because of his kidnapper. He grinned as he stabbed until his kidnapper bled just as much as he himself had. ''I'm not happy''. His blond locks slowly covering in his kidnapper's blood. "I was never happy". Finally, once the brunet pulled the blond off his kidnapper, the blond stopped. 

 

The brunet stared in horror at the bloody body in front of the pair. Yet, he stared in understanding of the blond's actions. The shrieks from the night, the whiplash on his bare back and ass, the way he spoke so broken, as though he was never allowed to speak in the cemented hell under the ground. The brunet knew that what happened was deserved on the blond's kidnapper's end. He didn't know how long the blond had been there. He wasn't sure he'd ever know. But he knew that the blond was hurt, scared and angry.

 

''Baby feels power? Doesn't he?" The kidnapper's voice echoed before dropping silent. His blood leaking across the grass and a grin growing upon the blond's face. 

 

''Stevie isn't happy. Stevie was never happy." The blond's voice quietly explained his anger and rage. ''Stevie wanted to murder you. _So. Badly_.''

 

_And Stevie did just that._


	3. Chapter 3

_The blond walked the sidewalk, his hands in his pockets, a smile on his face along with some leftover frosting that he struggled to lick off his cheek. A party hat upon his head and a little bit of alcohol in his system. Headphones shoved tightly in his ears, blaring the music that would drown out the sound of the car driving slowly behind him. He jumped out the car, gripping the blond and yanking his body backwards. He shoved the blond into the truck and shoved the birthday cake in the blond's mouth. The frosting of this cake, however, was laced with the drugs that would knock out the blond with a swift entry into his body. The blond laid on the backseats, his breathing slow, mind blank. Dragged into the house where he would stay for the next year and three months before his triumphant escape._

 

_His headphones laying on the street where he was taken by force, as the only evidence._

 

_The drugs wore off, he'd taken one look around and known. He simply knew he'd been kidnapped. He pounded on the door, the plastic window, the wall, shrieking loudly to find some force of help. He'd been stripped of his sweater, his shirt, his pants, and to his surprise; his underwear. The party hat crumpled on the floor beside him and the frosting wiped clean from his face. His kidnapper arrived, with sedatives and a whip._

 

 _''You have two options. You will be quiet_ _…" He held up the sedatives. ''Or I make you be quiet." He held up the whip._

 

_''I'd rather be beat than let you drug me." The blond snarled, unable to move his arms as they were chained to the wall._

 

_''As you wish." His kidnapper hastily dropped the sedatives, the cap popping off the bottle and pills spilling out. That left one thing in his grasp._

 

_The whip._

 

_The blond's heart beat and almost leapt out of his chest. If it did leap out of his chest, it would've been whipped back into place. The whip lashed across his chest, legs, face before he was turned over, his wrists twisting in the chain, his ass received the most brutal of all. He held back tears as the whip lashed and repeated._

 

_"Let's set some rules…" His kidnapper whispered into the blond's ear. ''One: You will not speak. You will only scream. Two: You cannot come unless I say so. Three: You will not pound on the door or try to escape." The whipping stopped. ''If you do…You'll bleed so much that I'll be able to swim in it." He smashed the whip down in the whip with the most force, the blond screamed. ''Good boy."_

 

_Over time, his kidnapper had treated him like an infant, dumbing him down until he spoke less than two words a day; yes or no. Eventually, he stopped speaking all together and responded with nods and shaking. Albeit, shaking his head usually did nothing since he wasn't allowed to deny his kidnapper anything, no matter how much he hated it. Some days, he would be lucky. He would be given a wooden block or two and overtime, he'd gotten all twenty six letters of the alphabet. When his birthday rolled around, he was given a paint set and balloon to play with. He watched from the corner, his kidnapper hanging up some pieces of string, snapping a party hat on the blond's head, blowing up balloons and brought in a birthday cake. The birthday cake, much like the one when he was kidnapped, was drugged. The frosting lined with melatonin, the batter embedded with anesthetics and lit cigarettes for birthday candles._

 

_''Happy birthday, baby boy." His kidnapper soothed, stroking the golden blond hair. He forcefully shoved a fork of the cake in the blond's mouth and that was all it took. He'd been used to waking up, blurred vision, his kidnapper inside of him, thrusting. It didn't bother him by now, because he was far too gone. Playing with the balloon until it got too far from his reach and his kidnapper took scissors to it because it distracted the blond. When his kidnapper came with a loud groan he pulled out and gave the blond more cake. After the depressing 'birthday party', his kidnapper took down the string, threw away the party hats, popped all the balloons and saved the cake for the blond to be forcefully fed later._

 

_He'd been allowed to watch the news if he was lucky, watching the world and life move on without anyone noticing he was gone. He rarely saw his kidnapper's face, once or twice, but it was always the shadow of the sweater hood keeping him from seeing a face. The blond was made aware of green eyes, a chilling smirk and lips that were more often than not wrapped around the blond's cock._

 

_''What's your name?" His kidnapper asked once after a few months of captivity._

 

_The blond knew he wasn't allowed to speak, but he knew that one of the things he held onto was his name. He maneuvered the blocks on the cement floor, spelling out  S T E V E._

 

_''You don't look like a Steve.'' His kidnapper cupped the blond's face. "How about I call you Stevie?" And after more brutal months and another birthday spent locked up, he had forgotten who 'Steve' was, and simply embraced 'Stevie'._

 

_A slow hatred for his kidnapper grew, but knowing that his kidnapper would be the only person providing him with love and food, he kept quiet about it._

 

_The particular spanking he received the day of his escape, was caused by the blond finally uttering some words. ''Why haven't you told me your name?" To be exact. His kidnapper had become enraged at that question and reacted in the only way that would keep the blond quiet._

 

_By hurting him._

* * *

 

The blond sat in the diner, the brunet finishing his third slice of pie and the blond barely touching his first. The blond tilted his head and stared at the plate, the perfectly triangular slice of pie sitting on it. 

 

''Are you sure you're okay? I --I think you should eat something." The brunet perked up. The blond watched the brunet and then the pie as though it was going to come alive any moment now. 

 

''Is it drugged?" The blond whispered and sent the brunet coughing on his piece. 

 

''No….should it be?" The brunet almost choked at the question.  _What did his kidnapper do to him?_

 

The blond picked up his fork and poked at the pie before slicing off a piece and eating it. He waited a while and stared at the brunet. 

 

''Are you looking for an okay to eat it?'' He jokingly asked, trying not to set off a trigger but was met with an unexpected response.

 

''Yes." The blond peeped quietly. 

 

 _Oh god._ The brunet filled with the horrible things the blond's kidnapper did to him. ''Then go on. Eat." The brunet motioned towards the pie. The blond followed his advice, and slowly ate the pie. He questioned why exactly it had been this way.

 

The once extroverted party goer reduced to shreds and ashes of a building that would take years to build back up. The brunet could sense that, but he vowed to be the one to build that building until it was shiny and new.

 

''From what I know, you are…Stevie?" The blond nodded his head before finishing the slice. "Is Stevie a nickname?" The brunet was met with the same response as before. The blond had forgotten 'Steve' and simply became known as Stevie. He didn't bother telling the brunet about Steve, rather preferring to be called by his nickname. ''I'm James, most call me Bucky….or patient eighty nine." The brunet pulled up his sleeve and showed the blond his tattoo from the facility. #89 written in black ink sprawled across his left arm with a large red star above it. 

 

''What happened to you?" The blond slowly swirled the straw in his glass of water.

 

The brunet rose his eyebrows and began thinking. ''Well…''

* * *

_"Dear journal._

 

_The screams were back again. Nobody else hears them; if they do, they don't acknowledge it. I'm beginning to think that it's the screams of my thoughts trying to break out of me. Why am I so afraid of it? It's beginning to turn things into a warped image of what the screams could really be. Why do bad things intrigue me? Falling backwards, bleeding, glass, red ink. Maybe it's a ghost, maybe I need help. Maybe whoever's screaming needs help. Maybe the darkness is their only friend. It's like a trapdoor. It holds you as your feet cling to it to stay upright but when you think you have a firm grasp_ _….it drops you, sending you flying down to bled. Your blood sings and leaves what you once were. It trickles on the floor, spreading along the trapdoor. They're laying in the darkness, it allows what's left of their soul to shine._

 

_You wanna hear something funny?_

 

_The house is vacant. Nobody lives there.''_

 

_The brunet's journal had been filled cover to cover with thoughts about the screaming. Once a murder occurred in the neighborhood, he'd become prime suspect. Upon finding him innocent, they found his journal. The investigation had proved a dead end. The house to them, was indeed vacant. Without bothering to check the_ _basement as the brunet insisted. They deemed him crazy, taking him away from his boyfriend, his life, his home and tossing him with the other crazy residents of the town._

 

_In hindsight, it makes him furious because if they had checked the basement, they would've been able to save the blond. He wouldn't have been thrown in a metal facility with a straight jacket and 'calming rooms'._

 

_The brunet stayed in the room, crying, alone, 'crazy' and 'mental'. The journal had been withheld by the FBI due to unknown circumstances and his boyfriend had moved on, marrying someone else just recently. They called him 'Misty eyes', and after he lashed out with fury, they put him in a straight jacket and 'calm room' to soothe him._

 

_It only took a month, after the blond's capture, that the brunet was captured and tortured as well, but in a different sense. Both were slowly becoming things they weren't before._

* * *

''Where are we going now?" The blond whispered in the parking lot after the brunet finished his story. 

 

''I don't know yet."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With school starting up soon, I'll be posting more or less. Still, I don't have a life, nor can I drive yet. 
> 
> Not even in high school yet, so I don't exactly have a life. With that, you'll be seeing a lot of more chapters since I, as mentioned before, do not have a life.


	4. Chapter 4

The blond stayed quiet as they walked, kicking a stone, hands in his pockets, head staring down. The brunet tugged at his collar, trying to stir up a conversation but failing to think of a topic. His mind flashed back to last night.

 

The way the blond's fury erupted out of him and rained hell upon his kidnapper. A chill ran down his spine when he replayed the words.

 

_''Stevie isn't happy. Stevie was never happy. Stevie wanted to murder you so badly.''_

 

''Why didn't you resist when your were out of your chains?" The brunet finally spoke.

 

The blond raised his head and stared foreword. "It's not that easy. He knew me better than I knew me. The threats that would get to my head, the idea that everyone forgot about me and that he was the only one who cared about me.'' The blond's voice was cracking with a pang of fear. ''I….I tried resisting. I threw some blocks at his head. The F, U, C, K, Y, O,  and U blocks of course. But that ended up being a double edged sword." His voice was soft, quiet, calming but no sign of comfort remaining. "The Y block, was able to make his forehead bleed on impact, but I was resisting; something he hated.'' He rolled up his pant leg and showed Bucky a poorly done stitch. "He wasn't kidding about the bleed part of his rules. I think he suffered from Stockholm that day. He realized that he'd made me cry and bleed. He immediately tried to calm me down with some ice pops and balloons. Then he tried stitching it up.'' The blond's eyes were calming when he looked at the brunet, he lowered the pant leg. ''But he did a shit job." The blond almost smiled, but then it dropped back in a tight line.

 

The brunet barely saw the blond's smile, but knowing that it still somewhere inside meant the world to him. 

 

''What happened to your boyfriend?" The blond's voice was low, and soft. The brunet ran a hand through his hair and inhaled through his teeth. 

 

''We spent about…9 years together. But marriage wasn't legal in the state until about a month after they tossed me in the asylum. So he celebrated that win with his  _new_ _boyfriend_ and then I found out they got married a little while ago. He probably tells his husband that his ex was bat-shit crazy." 

 

They were quiet once again. Kicking more stones along the sidewalk. The brunet stared at the small pieces of gravel and pebbles embedded into the sidewalk. The blond stopped, the brunet didn't notice until the blond tugged on his arm, gripped it and pulled him back. The blond's face held fear in it as he stared foreword to the cop cars and ambulances at the vacant house. The garden knife carried in a plastic bag by an investigator, a body bag held by a few people. A chill ran down both their spines simultaneously. 

 

''Guess the basement wasn't so vacant after all. I suppose that means they can go release Patient 89." The police chief's voice echoed through the neighborhood and struck a hole through the brunet's body.

 

''That would be great. Except for the fact that Patient 89 isn't there.'' The brunet's voice held fear much the blond's eyes. The brunet turned around began walking, the blond followed close behind. 

 

''Well, what's going to happen?" 

 

''We need to get out of the town. Once they realize a 'mental' patient is on the loose, they'll put the town on lockdown. No one goes in, no one goes out.'' He shuffled in his pocket before pulling out car keys and beeping the car behind him. "I'd say there's no where to run….because there isn't anywhere to run." He opened the passenger door for the blond before heading over to the driver's side, getting in and closing the door. "….But there  _are_ _places to drive."_

 

He started the engine, adjusted the mirror, buckled in and pulled out the driveway.

 

A year ago, they were Steve and Bucky.

 

_Now, they're Stevie and_ _Patient 89._

 

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now we focus on 'The Brunet'. Was it really the FBI's fault? Or was it something he didn't care to acknowledge?
> 
>  
> 
> *Charlotte's words are in bold.

The car ride was quiet, slow and patient. They didn't know where they were going, they didn't know when or if they'd be back. They simply knew that they'd have to leave. They would have to go find somewhere that nobody knew there names, faces, pasts and didn't judge their future. The question dawned upon the brunet.

 

Where was he taking the blond?

 

This was his battle to be fought, why was he taking the blond into this hell? He pondered the question as he stared at the paved road ahead of the car. 

 

 **"Why are you dragging little Stevie into this? This isn't good. You aren't a good person."** Then the voices are back. The ones that kept him company in the asylum. The ones that dragged him down and tore him to shreds. The blond's villain may have been his kidnapper, but the brunet's villain was himself. His own mind.

 

The brunet swallowed and ignored the voices in the back of his brain. Thunder in the words, terror in the voices, fear in himself. He steadied his breathing, knowing that anything could trigger and scare the blond; sitting patiently in the seat beside him and observing outside. Then he wondered who the blond's kidnapper was and why of all the people, he had to hurt the blond.

 

'' **He's innocent. Far too innocent to be in your hands. He is the 7 Cardinal Virtues but you? You are every one of the 7 Deadly Sins.''** He was okay. He was fine for a while. The voices weren't there when he escaped, they weren't there when he helped the blond escape and they certainly didn't have a reason to be there when they were in the diner. What's wrong with him now? He called it 'Charlotte', the voice inside his head and devil on his shoulder.

 

**''Bucky sounds like Fuck up. Coincidence? I don't think so. Do you believe that you are Bucky anymore? Last time I checked, you answered to Patient #89"**

 

 **''** Shut the fuck up." The brunet muttered through his clenched teeth, but it was still enough to make the blond dart his head from the window and stare quizzically at the brunet. The blond looked like a lost puppy and for a good minute, the brunet actually thought he was one. There wasn't any talking, apologies and warnings. Why scare the blond if you didn't need to? You cannot just tell him 'I have a voice inside my head named Charlotte. She is rude. She is ignorant. She is painful. However,  _she is me._ She is aware of what I am not and she doesn't like retaliation. She is is pure evil,  _she is me.'_

 

The blond had been through enough. There was simply no more room for insanity. 

 

'' **We can help him get better. We can fill the hole with the love that's he's been starved of. But of course, _where does that leave you?_ You cannot be 'helped', I am not going away. I will be here until the day I kill you.'' **

 

''Perhaps we should get to know each other a little better?" The brunet offered to the blond, desperately trying to get away from the voice simply known as 'Charlotte'.

 

''I like the colors blue and red and white, because if you add paint, white can be any color.'' The brunet nodded comfortingly and eased the blond's tense posture. "I liked when I could dump paint on my kidnapper. He would hate it, but he wouldn't be angry enough to hurt me." The blond didn't smile or show any real emotion. ''I liked those days when he would say that I was getting too rowdy. Then he'd put me in a rocking chair and rock me to sleep. Those were the days where I would sleep without being drugged or forced into intimate things." He pursed his lips and stared back out the window, the sky cloudy, but no sign of rain. ''What was it like in the asylum?"

 

'' **ABSOLUTELY LOVELY"** Charlotte taunted and sent a chill up the brunet's spine.

 

''The walls peeled and rusted copper surrounded much of the halls. I liked the way the straight jackets hugged around me. That was fun when I had nothing else to do but listen to myself--"

 

" ** _I believe you're talking about listening to_ me?"**

 

''Humming songs." He finished quickly. ''Sometimes the others would carve knives from anything they found and take turns stabbing each other. I didn't like it, but there's nothing to do but listen to Jack-in-the-box twinkling and chilling laughter through the halls. I did like the spray paint on the walls. The outside world rejected our aesthetic, but we were all the same. We all loved what everyone else there had to say or draw. Some wrote 'Let Me Out.' and others drew exactly how they felt; a twisted spiral that spun on all of the walls and somehow, we all felt the same way. We all felt like a twisted spiral of emotions." The brunet's grip loosened on the steering wheel as he turn onto the highway. Talking about insanity calmed him down. The blond cocked his head to the side and watched the brunet. Something cracking around the edges of his mouth, something trying to move.

 

''You're not crazy. They aren't crazy. They want to be heard and what they said was rejected. I don't think you're crazy. The FBI shouldn't either." He was still fidgeting. The brunet picked up on it quickly and tried carefully to understand if the blond was going to cry. Then it hit him like a train,

 

_The blond was trying to smile._

 

But it fell down into the look of content he had before and just like that, things were silent again. 

 

'' **He is trying to comfort you. Why? You do not deserve to be comforted. He thinks you are crazy. Because you are crazy. You are nothing more than worthless scum and --"** **  
**

 

''Did they ever catch who murdered that guy?" The blond quietly inquired, blurting it out like he could sense Charlotte's internal rampage and the brunet's pain.

 

''What does that mean?''

 

"The guy who was murdered that they framed you for the crime. Did they ever find who murdered him?"

 

There was a sharp paused as the brunet tried to recount.

 

''I don't think so."

 

"I think my kidnapper did it." 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No more night owl updates! Since you know, 8th grade is terrible. If I can manage to stay up in class, it'll be a good year.
> 
> Updates will be coming on Fridays and maybe Wednesdays?


	6. Chapter 6

The brunet cannot comprehend the very idea that the blonde's kidnapper could be a kidnapper  _and_ a murderer. He cannot come to the illation that everything had happened without the town caring, and if they did, they failed to acknowledge it.

 

"How are you so sure?'' 

 

''…..My kidnapper was vile, wretched and he always seemed…''

 

''Malevolent?"

 

''Yes. He knew he would not get caught for my kidnapping. He was too good with that, but if he had murdered someone and failed to clean up properly, he would--''

 

''Be afraid that someone would find out about him and find out about you." The brunet completed the blond's sentence. 

 

The blond nodded in response and sat silently. Conversations were brief, but it was not like they were not talking at all and this, the brunet believed, was called improvement. There are no words to fill the air or loom ominously over the two as they sit in the car. The blond does not want his thoughts to drift over the past. He wants to think about the present.

 

The past was violent, the present shows no sign of it.

 

Still, The blond's thoughts wander over a specific day and a cold, hard chill staggers up his spine.

* * *

 

_The day is silent. His kidnapper standing in the doorway, watching the blond as though he was a prize._

 

_A prize all to himself._

 

_The mere idea of what would happen terrifies the blond and with that, he must grimace and swallow back the lump in his throat. He kidnapper grins devilishly and bats his eyes innocently. This makes the blond even more_ _afraid._

 

_''What's wrong, baby boy?'' He smirks._

 

_The blond does not say a word. Afraid of saying the wrong thing. His response would not be the right thing, his kidnapper would not want to hear 'you' in response to his question._

 

_The blond sits on the bed, lips pouted a bit, hands in his lap. The first time his hands have been free from the chains in weeks. He cocks his head to the left, staring at his kidnapper and feeling as though he has been punched in the stomach once their eyes meet. Blue and green locking and the blond feels calm, just a tinge of calm surrounded by fear. His kidnapper narrows his eyes, now scowling at the blond who did not answer his question._

 

_"You need to answer me so I know what you want, sweetheart."_

 

_The blond wants to throw up at this pet name. The name is mother called him when he was sick, hurt, scared. His kidnapper was using the same name and it felt so wrong. The blond wants to close his eyes and count to ten. He kicks the blocks on the floor and spells out an answer to save himself from harm._

 

_N O T H I N G._

 

_He lies. The pastel colors of the blocks make him sick and he looks out the window, the sun going down and the light leaving slowly. It dwindles and the blond will slowly be submerged in darkness. His kidnapper eyes the words, pursing his lips and raising an eyebrow._

 

_''Well, sweetheart." The blond gags upon hearing this. ''My friends are coming over to see you." He sings, cackling afterwords. He leaves, the blond is left alone and afraid._

 

_He has never met his kidnapper's friends. He does not know what they will do to him._

* * *

The blond's heart begins running and the brunet takes notice.

 

"Are you okay?''

 

The blond shakes his head and the brunet stays silent. Unsure of what will happen, lest he say the wrong thing.

 

They cross the state line and while the brunet starts to believe problems are over, he and the blond both know it is far from it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long hiatus.
> 
> 8th grade sucks and I've been working on Twenty One Pilots fan fiction lately.
> 
> Still, more updates are coming soon and for those who follow 'Looking for a friend' and 'Insomnia at it's finest' more chapters of those are coming soon.


	7. Chapter 7

It's a horrid feeling burning through the brunet. It feels gross. It feels like brown-orange, tastes like a doctor's office smells, feels like a bat's wing. It's a terrible thing and the brunet wants to drown it out. 

 

It sounds like a wretched symphony.

 

The chords are wrong, the violins are not tuned, the drums and cymbals are not in tempo. He knows the blond would like to do anything but talk, he knows the blond would hate if he tried forcing words. He would like to know what the blond has to say, but words have been a minimum and the blond needs someone's approval to eat. 

 

The brunet knows it will be a long road to recovery. 

 

Something about the way the blond speaks, when he  _does_ speak, makes a chill flood and shoot up the brunet's spine. As though it were firecrackers on 4th of July lodging itself in his body and exploding. 

 

These are the same chills he feels when he thinks about the mental facility. An asylum of the misunderstood and truly damaged.

* * *

 

_The brunet has never seen a straight jacket unless it was in a horror movie. Upon seeing one up close for the first time, he realizes that his life itself is a horror movie. They are not comfortable, they feel like sandpaper and he knows he will have to behave in order to take it off._

_''You cannot soothe crazy if crazy does not exist." He tells another resident to spray paint on the wall since the straight jacket restricts him from doing so._

_The words are splayed across the cement wall. He is briefly proud at the swarm of people who understand what it means. They understand him. In a place like an asylum, it feels lovely to have other people understand._

_He met a man in the asylum. He had purple and pink hair. The brunet thought it was lovely and liked talking to this man. He was rarely allowed to do this since the man was confined to a small room, but when he opens a small slit in the door, they can talk for hours._

_Bucky was there for 'Psychological-Type A', a classification of how 'crazy' he was. Type A to Type C were allowed to roam freely in the halls. The man with purple and pink hair, however, was 'Wendigo Psychosis-Type G'. This meant that he was not allowed out and when he was, he had to wear a muzzle._

_The brunet did not understand the concept of Wendigo Syndrome._

_He did not understand that 'Wendigo' was another name for 'Cannibal'._

_The brunet talked to this man about how he wishes he could be free, leave and find something better. Something that did not involve spray painting his feelings or getting 'time outs' in straight jackets to soothe something that does not exist._

_The man would reply with normal answers. As though they carried on a normal conversation like normal people and the brunet knows deep down inside everyone, they were once normal._

_Nobody is born crazy._

* * *

The brunet drives, trying to forget certain things about the asylum. He thinks, ponders, contemplates about what has happened since his absence from the town. 

 

He pulls into a parking lot and sits, pondering what to do next. He decides to get out and walk to the store affront him and the blond.

 

The blond is hesitant to follow, fearing what is outside since he has not been outside for a fairly long time and needs time to adjust. The brunet taps his shoulder and the blond hisses quietly, fearing what the brunet will do.

 

Anytime his kidnapper touched him was to hit him, kick him or rape him.

 

Touch is a sense that the blond is no longer fond of due to his kidnapper. The blond exits the car, but keeps his distance from the brunet. He is wary of the brunet.

 

Inside the store is cold, the store's mascot colors of red and white remind the blond distinctly of blood and his kidnapper's torture methods. He can tell something is wrong. Things are quiet and while nobody is physically looking at him, he knows they are  _watching._ They are  _judging._

 

The brunet does not know what he is looking for. He turns his back to find something, some type of motive for being in the store. He can hear shuffling, wood on metal shifting behind him and turns to find the blond. Staring at him dismally with some blocks forming words. It takes the brunet some time before he finally understands what the blond is trying to comprehend and get his point across.

 

S O M E T H I N G  I S  W R O N G

 


	8. Chapter 8

It's terrifying.

 

No verbal words but the simple pastel wooden blocks possibly foreshadowing something horrid. 

 

"What's wrong?" The brunet is cautious, his words might frighten he blond and he is terrified of what the blond could be thinking. 

 

The blond's expression is dismal, petrified in the 3rd degree. The blond reaffixes the blocks to get his point across and say something else.

 

T H I S  D O E S N T  F E E L  R I G H T

 

I  F E E L  W A T C H E D

 

S O M E O N E  I S  W A T C H I N G

 

The brunet can feel something raising inside of him. The broken symphony is back and it has a horrid marching band with it as well. 

 

''Who's watching, Stevie?" The brunet whispers and the blond grimaces at the name. It doesn't feel right coming from the brunet. His kidnapper used to say those exact words.

 

_"What's wrong, Stevie? Baby boy are you okay? You look like you deserve a spanking. ANSWER ME."_

 

 **"He knows something is wrong. Something is wrong with this. You. Him. Us."** Charlotte shouts, her words crippling the brunet's mind and almost making him dry heave. 

 

He refuses to vomit before the blond. He refuses to make the blond witness that event. However, the blond would not have seen the initial hunch of vomit, he is busy answering the question.

 

H I S  F R I E N D S

 

''Who's friends?"

 

_**H I S** _

 

The brunet does not have to question anymore, he is well aware of who the blond is mentioning. Though the blond wants to, he will not throw up affront the brunet no matter how sick he feels. He will fight back the feeling rising in his throat as he remembers the horrid day he met his kidnapper's friends.

* * *

_The morning is met with sunshine bleeding through the window and fear settling in the blond's heart. The teddy bear secure under his arm on the cold bed in which he lay. He does not bother with open in his eyes, believing he can fall back asleep once more and not have to be awake during the horrid nightmare that is his life._

 

_He yawns and decides to sit up, shockwaves bursting through his veins when he sees 3 men accompanied by his kidnapper snickering in the doorway._

 

_''He's a doll, ain't he?" His kidnapper grins, it reminds the blond of the Cheshire Cat._

 

_''Yep." The man to the left crosses his arms and a devilish grin is bleeding onto his face. ''What's it's name?"_

 

_The blond would like to throw up at the fact that this man has call him 'it'._

 

_''Stevie. I call 'em Sweetheart. He seems to like Baby Boy, though." His kidnapper is deadpan. He shrugs and waves his hand off. ''Have fun with him. Just don't break him. That's my job." He laughs, and leaves the room. The blond is alone with these three men who he knows will abuse him however they like._

 

_D O N T  H U R T  M E_

 

_He shuffles the blocks quickly to no avail. One pulls out a syringe, dripping with liquid and taking turns playing Rock, Paper, Scissors. A man with black hair wins the first round, holding down the blond as he press the sharpest needle to the blond's skin. When it breaks, he can feel each ounce of the liquid invade his veins and sing through his blood. He closes his eyes, resisting the urge to do so. He tries to stay awake for as long as he may, for if he falls asleep, the men can have their way and he might be sore for a periodically long time._

 

_But the blond fails at his goal._

 

_The men have won, the blond cannot see, think, hear, cry, shout, moan or feel anything or anyone._

 

_Everything is pitch black. Dark, dismal. Evil, horrid._

 

_When the blond awakes, his kidnapper is counting money and the blond can now feel everything. Senses heightened and it feels gross. The blood and cum stained sheets, the teddy bear's head torn off and stuffing lay upon the ground, the ringing **blaring**  in his ears. The television static feeling pulsing as his body come back from a drugged high._

 

_He feels as though he has lost._

 

_He has lost. _

 

_His kidnapper gets up from the rocking chair. Unloosing zip ties that the blond was unaware of. He picks up the blond, swaddling him to the rocking chair where he previously sat and placing the blond upon his lap. He rocks with the blond, who quietly sobs into his kidnapper's shoulder and clinging on._

 

_He rests, relaxing in the 'safe' arms of his kidnapper and falls asleep. This time with his own consent._

* * *

 

But now inside the store, wooden blocks as a form of communication, the blond is seen by someone other than his reflection in the mirror and the brunet.

 

He is seen by his kidnapper's disgusting friends as they eye him from the card aisle. They are purchasing duct tape and string. 

 

The blond is not surprised by this, but his is surprised, more or less scared when they push him against an aisle shelf and demand to know where his kidnapper is.

 

They snicker as the blond begins to cry.

 


	9. Chapter 9

In the moment that the brunet finally comprehends the dire situation at hand, he finds that it is easier to emit an ear splitting shriek. The blond covers his ears but decides that the sound is a cross between a hawk and computer dial up from the late 20th century.   

 

The blond is immensely bewildered. How does one make such a horrid noise by themselves? The blond also ponders as to how the same noise has been able to break 3 glasses on the next aisle over and make the men cover their ears with a sharp grimace. The blond is amazed, perplexed and finds it quite innovative to pour liquid detergent among the men. He sniffles, the brunet takes a tissue and wipes the tears of the shaking blond. 

 

The blond spells out with the block and the brunet sees it. He observes with wonder, and subtle happiness with the subject of something that has not happened yet.

 

T H A N K S

 

With this, the blond _smiles_. It is not a toothy smile, just a small smirk and the brunet wants the blond to do it more often. He understands that it will be a torrid recovery, but showing emotion other than hurt and fear is something. It shows progression. Improvement. So the brunet has nothing else to do but smile. Smile back in the aisle of a fairly empty Target as 3 men lay on the linoleum floor beneath them.

 

Good things do not last long, it slowly goes back to the dismal silence and the blond has resumed his average plain look reminiscent of a rainy day with thunder strikes of fear looming in the hazy air. 

 

The blond stays a little closer to the brunet, and if he takes notice, he does not acknowledge it. Well, that is just fine with him. The blond grows tired, having not slept in quite a while and he creates a mental note to himself that when he arrives back at the car, he will sleep. Sleep off pain. Sleep off everything. 

 

It fails to surprise him that the brunet takes extra precautions now. Moving toward the blond just a little bit closer when someone walks by. The brunet makes sure the blond does not fear anymore, he feels it necessary to protect the blond and he is not wrong. 

 

If his heart rate speeds up immensely with each and every person that walks past, the blond does not care. He has no time to care. He is busy looking over his shoulder and occasionally looking at the brunet as though he were a kicked puppy. 

 

The blond takes a deep breath, allowing his heart rate is slow down and calm with his mind. He cannot comprehend all of these emotions at once, they mix and bleed together. Black, grey, a hint of yellow, navy blue, burgundy and snow. It confuses him, he sees a strange image. 

 

Inside his mind, he sees a Rorschach test.

 

The blond's mind is a Rorschach test and somehow, the brunet can see beauty in the bleeding black image.


End file.
